


AELDWS 2016 drabbles

by emb_pface



Series: AELDWS [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: AELDWS 2016, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Arthur/Eames Last Drabble Writer Standing, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Magical Realism, bad taste in veggies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 00:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13178907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emb_pface/pseuds/emb_pface
Summary: More AELDWS drabbles!Non-Elimination weeks:1. Their stupid ship needs doors with better failsafes. Space AU!2. Eames isn’t expecting company, but he can’t really find it in himself to complain.3. Arthur really can't stand the taste.4. He doesn't want to know what it counts down to. But he does. Magical Realism AU5. Arthur and Eames are sort of thief dads to Ariadne.Elimination weeks:6. Ariadne knows better.7. Arthur is being sent home. highschool!AU8. Just the two of them, going on the run. Sci-fi AU9. Arthur wasn’t aware there was a dress code.





	1. (took a deep breath and) listened to the old brag of my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: locked out; Word count: up to 300

Arthur sprints towards the science bay, the metal catwalks clanking loudly under his boots. His knapsack slams into his back unevenly. Dashing around the corner, Arthur nearly runs right into the door - he catches himself, and jabs his (not shaking, they’re not) fingers into the keypad.

“C’mon, let’s _go,”_ Arthur mutters. The door hisses, long and pneumatic, and starts to slide open.

But then, a muffled shout, a gurgled hiss, something slams into the science bay door, and suddenly the door isn’t moving anymore. “Fuck, _fuck,”_ Arthur spits. The muffled shouts continue, and Arthur hears, more than sees, someone crash through the science bay. Grabbing his bag, Arthur yanks open the drawstrings and grabs the nitropen. “Eames!” he shouts. He pounds a fist against the door. “Over here!”

Arthur manages to wedge a shoulder through the small space, trying to force it open. “Eames! Come-”

Something grabs him, and Arthur can’t help jerking back instinctively as a face looms into view. Or at least, the grey blob covering the face. It’s Eames, desperately clutching at the ugly grey that's quickly suffocating him. Arthur doesn’t hesitate now. He grabs Eames and slams the nitropen into the grey blob. Instantly, the grey freezes over, and there’s a high, inhuman shriek that sends shivers down Arthur’s spine; Eames rears back and slams his face into the door. The grey mass shatters, and Eames falls. Arthur follows.

Eames gags, and Arthur realizes he’s still gripping Eames’ shirt. “Nice timing,” Eames gasps.

Arthur can’t seem to let go. “You asshole. You’re lucky I got here in time.”

“Cheers.” Eames coughs. “Appreciated, really.”

“You’re lucky,” Arthur says again, and Eames grips Arthur’s hand (not shaking, it’s not) with his own. He can feel Eames’ heartbeat. He can feel him breathing.

“I know.” Eames says. “I know.”


	2. unexpected, dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames isn’t expecting company, but he can’t really find it in himself to complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: altered; Genre: post-canon/post-movie; Word count: up to 200

The door was ajar.

Immediately, Eames put down his takeaway bag in the hallway, the plastic rustling gently, gun already cocked and ready in his hands. After a cursory glance down the hallway, he silently swept into his hotel room.

It was… clear.

Well, somewhat; the room certainly wasn’t how Eames had left it. He lowered the gun. A line of clothes was scattered across the floor, a messy trail that led to the bathroom. Laughing quietly to himself, Eames stepped outside and grabbed the takeaway, and firmly shut and locked the door when he came back in.

“And what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Eames called, making his way over to the bathroom. He pushed the door open, and gleefully, took in the sight of a wet Arthur folded up in the bathtub, indulgently soaking in a mass of bubbles.

Arthur lazily scooped his fingers through the bubbles. “It’s pay-per-view, Eames.” He slanted a look at Eames, and it wasn’t until he smiled that Eames was aware of the half-grin on his own face. “That lo-mein you got will do,” Arthur said. He waved Eames over, and Eames went gladly, kicking off his shoes.


	3. bit off more than i could swallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur really can't stand the taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: bitter; Genre: canon; Word count: 250 words exactly

His palms were damp. His toes curled in his shoes. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Arthur didn’t know if he could handle this.

His face twisted against his will, and his mouth filled with saliva. He felt his tongue rearing, felt himself start to gag - no. Eames was watching; Arthur couldn’t possibly disgrace himself so.

Eames watched him intently. “Just commit to it, Arthur,” he urged, his gaze burning on Arthur’s face. “Commit.”

But as Arthur looked up and locked eyes with Eames, the corner of Eames’ mouth ticked upwards, and Arthur couldn’t take it. He lunged forward out of his seat. Grabbing the trashcan out of Eames’ hands, Arthur spit a soggy green mess into it and immediately grabbed Eames’ water, ignoring Eames’ mild ‘hey’ of protest. As Arthur swilled the water around his mouth and spit, he couldn’t help quietly groaning in disgust. The ugly bitterness of it was still on his tongue. He took another swig of water.

“Thirty-two seconds,” Eames commented. “Shorter than I had expected.”

Arthur spat into the trashcan again, plastic bag rustling in his grip. “That was disgusting.”

Eames laughed and reached over Arthur’s desk, picking up a plastic container. “Of all things, I didn’t think it’d be a plant that would fell the mighty Arthur.” He gave it a little shake. “Arugula?”

Arthur dropped the trashcan, and the metal against concrete echoed in the warehouse. “Disgusting,” he repeated. “Next time, stick to what I tell you and bring me a cheeseburger.”


	4. turn back the clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't want to know what it counts down to. But he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: skin; Genre: magical realism AU; Word count: up to 300 words

There’s a countdown on Arthur’s skin.

He can’t remember when it started, but the first memory of his Counter when he’s nine, a great big TWELVE scrawled across his arm. It doesn’t wash off, and it doesn’t hurt - it’s just there. He has no idea what TWELVE meant, but he starts to understand when, a week afterwards, his brother spins out on icy pavement and hits an oncoming truck doing 80. That night in the bath, Arthur sees a small ELEVEN in his brother’s handwriting wrapping securely around his pinky.

He can’t always see it, though. It shifts, to his ribs, to his neck, to the back of his thigh. It only ever stays in place when Arthur can stare at it, but it’s bound to be elsewhere by the time he’s looked away and back.

No, he can’t always see it. But sometimes he thinks he can feel it anyway: tick tick ticking down.

He feels it now, his skin crawling over his back. He knows it’s just a trick - Arthur can see it just fine on his wrist. But Arthur feels restless anyway. He can’t stop staring, even in the dark of his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, and he feels an old urge to try and rip it off of himself. He wishes he were rid of it.

But there’s a sigh, a shift, and warm hands are pulling him back into bed. One smooths over Arthur’s wrist, and the large, glaring ONE blurs into an inky mess. It stains the palm of the hand, before settling into a small TWO.

“Come back to sleep, Arthur. It’s not going anywhere.”

Arthur feels sleep weighing heavy on his eyes. But he keeps watch on his wrist. The stain doesn’t budge.

“Sleep, Arthur.”

Arthur does.


	5. in a single heart that grieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Eames are sort of thief dads to Ariadne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the road not taken; Genre: WILDCARD (i chose an AU where they're a diff kind of thieving fam); Word count: up to 500 words

“Four o’clock,” Arthur rasped, holding tight to his ribs. Blood trickled down his skin, and already seeping through the makeshift bandage.

Eames swore as he wrenched out the keypad by the heavy metal doors, and jammed in the cables that connected. “Yes, thank you, Ariadne, on your right!” 

Arthur watched as Ariadne raised a pistol and neatly dropped their pursuers. “Got ‘em!”

Arthur nodded, trying to breathe. “Nicely done.” 

Suddenly, there was a loud buzzer, and with a heavy clank, the doors opened. Ariadne hurried over to Eames and grabbed the black duffels that lay next to him. She checked back over her shoulder for any more pursuers. “Yusuf hasn’t checked in yet.”

Eames pulled Arthur’s arm over his shoulders and hefted Arthur to his feet, a quiet apology falling from his lips as Arthur gasped in pain. Eames’ body heat was startling against his own, and it almost distracted Arthur from the hole in his side. 

“If he’s half as good at driving as he thinks he is, he’ll be where he’s supposed to be,” Eames hissed. They ran through the doors together, moved down the hallway to the flights of emergency stairs. Eames stopped at the base of them, bending down and sweeping Arthur into his arms.

“Sorry darling, this is going to hurt,” Eames warned, and then before Arthur could take a breath, he was sprinting up the stairs alongside Ariadne, and Arthur nearly passed out from the jostling. They flew up the flights and burst through the emergency exit. No sooner than they had exited, a van screeched up to the curb with Yusuf at the wheel. They dove into the backseat without hesitation, and the van peeled off. 

“Christ, that’s a lot of blood,” Yusuf commented. “First aid’s under the back seat.” 

Eames was already ripping off the old bandage, and Ariadne was opening the bottle of antiseptic. Arthur couldn’t help the shout that tore itself from his throat as Ariadne splashed it on his side, and he grabbed Eames’ shoulder, anchoring himself. Black spots encroached on his vision as Eames pulled him into his chest and wrapped a bandage around him. Arthur closed his eyes, his forehead fitting neatly against Eames’ neck. 

Arthur felt the rumble of Eames’ voice in his chest as he spoke. “So how was that for a first heist?” He opened his eyes to see Ariadne, who glanced past them through the rear window.

“Well,” she said, “We got what we came for, we’re filling in the cleaner spots in Yusuf’s car to match the rest of it,” she ignored Yusuf’s “hey!” from the front. “And nobody in this car is dead.” Ariadne shrugged. “So not too shabby. Maybe steal from the blood bank next time, if this is going to be the norm.” She nods at Arthur.

Arthur huffs tiredly. “Hopefully not. Those were good shots though, in there. Y’did good.” 

Eames gently chucked her under the chin. “We’ll make a decent thief of you yet, Ariadne.”


	6. Cold as Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ariadne knows better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: misconception; Genre: (post-)canon; Word count: up to 500 words

There’s a general consensus that Arthur is cold. He has an obvious disdain for small talk, little tolerance for excuses, disappears immediately after jobs with the barest of farewells. His expression is as sharp and unyielding as the pressed edges of his suits, his tongue even more so.

Eames once told Ariadne: if Arthur didn’t call you after a first job with him, you were probably on a list unofficially titled, “Arthur’s Shit List” (Eames also said it meant they were either dead to Arthur, or actually dead).

It was a point of pride for Ariadne, knowing she was in Arthur’s list of favorite contacts.

Ariadne gets it, though. When you’re the point man, there’s little room for error, and overlooking a single detail could mean an operation goes very, very wrong.

Then the other part of Arthur comes out.

Armed with deadly aim, and brutal knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, Ariadne has seen Arthur run loops around his enemies and take them down without a sweat. In a dream gone wrong, he’d shoved a knife into the skull of a gutshot Eames just as easily as he’d earlier slit the neck of a projection that got too close. He hadn’t even blinked at the amount of blood that had stained his shirt.

So yeah, Ariadne gets it. Cold.

But she also knows better.

Maybe it’s because he still babies her a little that she sees it, maybe it’s because he trusts her enough (she hopes it’s the latter, but it’s probably both). But Ariadne knows better.

The first and only time Arthur had lost his temper with her on a job, he’d stormed out immediately. The next day, he came back early to catch her alone at the safehouse, looking much better rested. With a box of bagels and hot coffee in hand, Arthur apologized briefly, but sincerely, stating he hoped that this wouldn’t damage their working relationship. Ariadne called him a dick, but she accepted the bribe of food and coffee.

That time he’d shoved a knife into Eames, he’d only done so because he didn’t have a gun on hand. Eames had grimaced at the knife, but he’d wordlessly tipped his head into Arthur’s palm, baring his neck. Arthur was mercifully swift.

Arthur also wears a ring around his neck. A gold band on a thin loop of leather, it slides soundlessly underneath his collar. Ariadne would’ve never seen it if it hadn’t been for a serendipitous downpour that had caught Arthur between his car and the safehouse. He came in soaked, his shirt transparent and clinging. That day, Ariadne remembers, Eames had been exceptionally obnoxious, needling Arthur every moment possible.

The day after, Eames had worn a monstrosity of a yellow shirt that actually hurt to look at – but that didn’t distract Ariadne from the small glimpse of leather cord that lay around his neck. When Ariadne couldn’t hold back the small sound of recognition, Eames looked at her, and winked.

…Yeah.

Ariadne definitely knows better.


	7. (not) a fever of a hundred and three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is being sent home. Highschool AU!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genre: epistolary fic; Prompt: low grade; Word count: between 300 to 350 words

INFIRMARY

DATE OF VISIT: 3/7/07

STUDENT NAME: Arthur Lewis

AFFLICTION: Complained of migraine, muscle aches. Has a low-grade fever, exhaustion.

PRESCRIPTION: Sending him home for rest.

NOTES: Keep Wesley Eames out of the office.

 

\---

ELIOT SWIFT HIGH SCHOOL

FRONT OFFICE

CALL TRANSCRIPT

DATE: 3/7/07

Call from INFIRMARY to ARTHUR LEWIS HOME

 

TRANSCRIPT START

[click] -- _Hello?_

_Hello, may I speak to Mrs. Lewis?_

_Speaking._

_My name is Jackie Hill, and I’m the infirmary nurse at Eliot High. Your son, Arthur—_

**She only has the one, you know, you don’t have to specify.**

_–has a low fever, and I’m prescribing him some at-home rest. Wesley, please return to your classroom. Mrs. Lewis, could you pick up—_

**I can take him home!**

_–Arthur from school? Wesley, please._

_Oh, dear._

**It’s my free period, I’ll do as I like. I can drive him home, can’t I?**

[Eames, just go back.]

**He’s withering away as we speak! Let me—**

_Wesley! If you continue to disturb Arthur from his rest, I will personally escort you out of the infirmary. Mrs. Lewis, I—_

_Ms. Jackie, could I speak to my son?_

_Yes, of course. Wesley—!_

[Eames, swear to God I’m gonna kick— Yeah. Hi, Mom.]

_Hi sweetie. You sound terrible._

[You know me. Withering away.]

**See? I told you.**

[Can you pick me up?]

_You’d have to wait a bit – I’m about to come back from the store._

[That’s fine. I can wait.]

_Okay, honey. I’ll be there soon._

[Oka— Hey!]

_Wesley…_

**Mrs. Lewis! Beautiful, lovely Mrs. Lewis, light of my life—**

_Hello, Mr. Eames. Thank you for dragging him to the infirmary. I know how stubborn our Arthur can be._

**Indeed, Mrs. Lewis.**

_Wesley, that was the bell for next period. You need to leave._

[Yeah Eames, you need to leave.]

**You’ll hush if you know what’s good for you.**

_Go back to class, now. Do drop by and visit him after school, won't you? The key’s under the usual flowerpot._

**Yes, Mrs. Lewis. Wonderful, effervescent Mrs. Lewis—**

[Go away, Eames.]

_Hey, withering flowers don’t push others— OUCH—_

 

TRANSCRIPT END


	8. turn off the lights when you leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just the two of them, going on the run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genre: sci-fi AU; Prompt: agenda; Word count: 250 words exactly

“No way.” Arthur jaw dropped, and he grabbed the tinfoil package from Eames. “Where’d you–” He immediately felt suspicious. “What are you up to?”

Eames only grinned, sitting next to him on the bed. “Go on, have a bite.”

Suspicious or not, Arthur didn’t hesitate. He ripped open the tinfoil and bit off a mouthful of chocolate. It melted on his tongue, and Arthur couldn’t help closing his eyes, humming at the taste.

“Happy birthday,” Eames laughed. “You’re, what, sixty?”

Arthur shoved him, but he couldn’t help grinning either. “Sixteen, idiot, we all are. And tomorrow...” The chocolate caught in Arthur’s throat. Eames’ grin faded. 

“Tomorrow’s the Culling,” Eames finished.

Arthur didn’t respond, and silence fell.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Eames said suddenly, startling Arthur.

“What? The Wardens will catch you!”

“What’ll they do, send me to the Culling?” Eames laughed bitterly. “Then what, to the Forge? To the Lab?”

Arthur’s mouth tasted like ash.

“I want you to come with me.” Eames grabbed Arthur’s hand, his touch feverish.

“And go where?”

“Anywhere but here!” Eames squeezed his hand. “Arthur, I’ve been past the walls. There are people there, I’ve met them! And there’s green.”

“What?” The chocolate lay forgotten in Arthur’s hand.

“The Wardens lied,” Eames hissed. “They keep us in here, keep us quiet, and kill us– come with me, Arthur.”

Arthur gaped at him.

“Come with me,” Eames said.

“You’re crazy,” Arthur said.

But Eames didn’t let go, and Arthur sighed, hard and fast.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”


	9. Milk or Sugar?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wasn't aware there was a dress code.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genre: humour; Prompt: “Don’t flinch.”; Word count: up to 400 words

Arthur waited, wary. Eames had promised that he had a very steady hand, thank you, but Arthur still couldn’t shake his uneasiness. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I don’t know, Eames.” 

“Come now,” Eames said. “Phillipa and James are already done, and they’re waiting at the table. It’s your turn, so close your eyes.” He looked at Arthur patiently. 

Arthur sighed, and closed his eyes. 

Humming, Eames tapped something on the table. “Don’t flinch.” 

Arthur heard Eames’ clothes rustle as he leaned forward, but even with the warning, he couldn’t help jerking back at the touch of Eames’ hand. 

Eames tsked as Arthur leaned away. “Now what did I say? Unless you stop flinching, we’ll be here a while, and it’s impolite to keep our royal hosts waiting.”

A gust of air burst out of Arthur’s chest and he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Eames, it’s just one of Phillipa’s tea parties, do I really have to wear makeup?” 

“Just a-” Offended, Eames clasped what was a palette of eyeshadow close to his chest. “Just a tea party,” he gasped, fluttering purple lashes at him. “How dare you. There is an etiquette here, Arthur!” There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on Eames’ face, but there was a suspicious glint in his eyes that had Arthur twitching. 

“Look,” Arthur said, a little desperately and very close to whining. “I will wear the hat, I will do the nails, those don’t bother me. I just-” He reached forward and grabbed the offensively pink thing that lay around Eames’ neck. “Can’t I wear this instead?”

Eames snatched the ostentatious feather boa from Arthur’s grip and flung it over his shoulder. “Absolutely not, Phillipa picked this one for me, and pink compliments my undertones. What, exactly, is the issue?”

Arthur rubbed his eyes compulsively. “The feel of something on my eyelids really weirds me out, okay?” 

Eames didn’t even hesitate. “Darling, why didn’t you say something earlier?” He tossed the palette into his bag and rummaged through it.

“Why do you have so much makeup anyway?” 

“I promised Phillipa I’d bring some next time I visited,” Eames responded. “Additionally, makeup is incredibly useful on the job, as you know.” He pulled out another palette that hardly looked any different from the first, along with several different tubes of color, looking at Arthur expectantly. “So. Highlighter, or lipstick?”


End file.
